


In Sickness and in Health

by roxyeisen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 12:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13951407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxyeisen/pseuds/roxyeisen
Summary: A little scene out of the years of silence between 2003-2008. Scully gets sick and Mulder takes care of her. Mulder’s perspective.





	In Sickness and in Health

When I was twelve, I had to write an essay in school about what I wanted my life to look like in twenty years. Most of it was superficial, naive crap. I’d change my name to Robert, be an astronaut, have a knockout wife and smart kids. But the end of it was surprisingly aprioric. 

_I want to know the truth about the universe. I hope I will figure out what to believe and help other people be safe because of it. ___

__It’s three a.m. at the farmhouse. I’m in my office because I’ve never been much of a sleeper, and it disturbs Scully’s much needed rest to have me tossing and turning next to her. We’ve been living here for two years. She has a job as a primary care physician at Lady of Sorrows Hospital, with potential to be promoted to a surgical program. As I’ve always thought, Scully is brilliant. I love watching her mind at work. She sees logical connections and goes after them, using her deep care for others to light her way. I’m glad she’s had this time to come alive. Now that she doesn’t have to follow in my shadow, she’s rising all the way to the top._ _

__My life is pretty quiet. I’m trying to work on a book. I already have an agent and a couple publishers interested in a work about my time on the X-Files, but it’s slow going. I miss the action of being out in the field. I miss being able to come and go freely. I go into D.C. to get gas or groceries or run errands for Scully, but it’s not the same as working cases and pursuing the truth. I find myself getting pretty desperate for something interesting and new to happen in my life. At the back of my mind, I wonder how long I can go on like this. I’ve always had the temperament of a hermit, don’t get me wrong. But it makes me feel like less of a man to have so little direction. What can Scully possibly see in me right now? What is my purpose? How am I possibly contributing to the human race by sitting in my office day after day trying to write a book that just won’t settle on the page?__

The still of the quiet autumn night is broken by a soft sound coming from upstairs. I turn toward the door and listen. 

__“Mulder,” Scully calls softly. She sounds distressed. I take the stairs two at a time and rush to our bedroom. She’s sitting up at the edge of the bed, clearly sick. Her face is flushed and her lips are lined with red like they get when she has a fever. She lifts glassy eyes to mine._ _

__“I’m sick.” She sounds so pathetic. “I must have picked up something at the hospital.”_ _

__I go to her and squat in front of her. My hand goes to her forehead. It’s hot to the touch. “You’re feverish. Let me get the thermometer.”_ _

__Doctor Scully lays back in bed and relinquishes her position to me. I get the ear thermometer from the medicine cabinet and discover that she has a temp of over 103. “I think I should take you to the ER.”_ _

__She protests. “They can’t do anything about a fever, Mulder. Just get me some water and some ibuprofen.”_ _

__I get it for her and lay by her for the next hour, watching her fitful sleep. I get a washcloth and wipe down her face and arms like I’ve seen her do for sick kids in the hospital. Like she’s done for me on occasion._ _

__The medicine doesn’t seem to work. She starts groaning and thrashing like she is fighting some invisible monster. I push the strands of damp hair away from her face and press my lips against her forehead. She’s still burning up._ _

__“Scully?” I set aside the washcloth since it is as hot as her now. “Maybe it’s time to go to the hospital.”_ _

__She doesn’t seem to hear me. She cries and fumbles at her sides like she is looking for her weapon she hasn’t worn in two years. “He’s after me! He’s going to take the baby!”_ _

__Whenever Scully has nightmares, they involve our son. Her subconscious still tries to take care of him, though she has no idea where he is. Who he is. I regret having ever left her alone that year. Maybe if I’d stayed, she wouldn’t have felt like she had to make such an extreme decision. But at the same time, I know I would have put them both in jeopardy by staying. Will she ever recover? Will she ever be at peace in the depths of her spirit? Time will only tell. I look out the window and see the light of the moon shining into our bedroom and I think of him. I imagine him lying safe somewhere, sleeping under a blanket of stars and a half-full moon. I can’t think of him any other way, or I’ll despair. My son. I have a son._ _

__Even more amazing than that, I share a son with Scully. The most important person in the world to me shared her very essence with mine and a child was created. He is part me, part Scully. What is he like? What attributes did he inherit of mine? His nose? His eyes? His penchant for far out truths and dangerous ideas? Probably not now, at the age of three. What of Scully does he carry with him? Is he red-headed? Logical to a fault? Stubborn and tenacious?_ _

__I can see that Scully is too sick to even protest my taking her to the hospital, and I’m starting to worry about her. I ease her arms out of her silk pajamas and pull a soft, warm sweatshirt over her head. I help her into black sweatpants and slip on her socks and shoes. As she cries and mumbles, I carry her limp, slight body down the stairs and out to the car, where I buckle her in. I go back to grab my phone and keys and lock up._ _

__All the way to the hospital, she fights the dreams. She must be exhausted by now. When we get to the ER, the stillness of the night is replaced by busy rushing of bodies and people. Disgruntled, ill folks surround us on all sides. The check in nurse takes one look at Scully and nods._ _

__“Take a seat and fill out these forms. It will be a while.”_ _

__“She works here. She’s a doctor.” I say, hoping it will get her treated sooner. The nurse shrugs as if there’s nothing she can do._ _

I help Scully to a seat in the corner, as far away from the bustle as I can manage to get. I help her lean against me before I tackle the forms. I know her information as well as I know my own. _Dana Katherine Scully. Birthday: 2/23/64. Age: 41. Family history: Father – deceased. Mother – 70. One sister deceased, two brothers living. Medical history: Coma resulting from trauma, 1994. Nasal Pharyngeal cancer, 1996-97. Infertility, 1999-2000. Childbirth: natural, 5/20/2001. Boy._

__“Mulder,” Scully whimpers beside me. I let go of the clipboard and put my arm around her, kissing her sweaty brow._ _

__“I’m here.”_ _

__“Don’t leave me.”_ _

__“I won’t.”_ _

__And I mean it. It occurs to me how profound a statement I’ve made. I don’t care if the sun stops shining or the world implodes or I never find the truth or even a purpose greater than the one I’ve been living. There’s one thing I’m sure I will never, EVER do. I won’t leave her. I can’t imagine life without her. And I hesitate to put a name to this feeling. Somehow to call it love or friendship or companionship or marriage or anything else a man and woman might call their relationship seems wrong. Less, somehow, than what it really is._ _

__My will in this matter is tested when she’s finally called back. I turn in the clipboard and move to help Scully to the wheelchair a nurse has brought out for her. The check in nurse stops me as I reach to push the chair into the back._ _

__“Are you her husband?”_ _

__I hate this question. They mean, am I lawfully wedded to Dana Scully, and I’m not. But why does that mean I’m not married to her in spirit, in truth, in any other sense of the word? I can’t file a marriage certificate with a government that wants to kill me. That doesn’t mean I’m keeping my options open. If they were to ask me to repeat vows to Scully right here and now before I take her back I would have no trouble promising any of it._ _

_For better or worse. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. As long as we both shall live._

__But since these nurses are obviously in no mood to argue about semantics, I choose the easy route. “Yes. I’m her husband.”_ _

__And with that, they allow me to bring her back. It turns out she has pneumonia. I’m glad I brought her in. They admit her for the night to keep an eye on her, start antibiotics.__

____

As the sun is just starting to peak over the horizon, I sit by her side, holding her hand. Her fever has come down, her restless fighting has calmed. She opens her eyes and sees me there. I smile. Squeeze her hand. 

____

__“Feeling better?” I lean close and press a kiss to her lips._ _

____

__“Yes.” She sighs. “Much. Thank you for taking care of me.”_ _

____

__“Always.” I shrug as if it’s a no brainer. “I’m here.”_ _

____


End file.
